


We Are the Champions

by tetrahedron



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Alternate Universe - Baseball, Alternate Universe - High School, Friends to Lovers, Hightown Funk Exchange, Multi, Mysteries, Protective Siblings, Supernatural Elements, ferelden high, highschool sports, kirkwall academy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-14
Updated: 2015-08-14
Packaged: 2018-04-14 14:11:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4567515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tetrahedron/pseuds/tetrahedron
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Ferelden High mysteriously burns down, it’s up to Hawke to talk her and her sister’s way into the prestigious Kirkwall Academy. But private school isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. That is, until she joins the baseball team.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Kirkwall Academy

**Author's Note:**

  * For [FeoplePeel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FeoplePeel/gifts).



> "Pairing: F!Hawke/Varric  
> Class: Rogue  
> Personality: Sarcastic/Charming (Purple Hawke)
> 
> Default Hawke--defense mechanism is sarcasm, so she uses it with most everyone she meets. At her core, she thinks kindly of her friends and family, usually speaking more gently to her siblings and those in need (basically she's a blend of green and purple Hawke, haha).
> 
> I'm fond of the school AUs--I picture Hawke as the athletic type and Bethany/Carver as the new kids she's looking out for. Bianca is the girl she's trying to help her childhood friend, Varric, impress but mostly he embarrasses himself."
> 
> I took this prompt and ran with it, far beyond the bounds of reason or common sense, and also, sadly, beyond the time constraints of this exchange. I am sorry to say it is not complete, but if you read this ridiculous camel of a story and decide you want more, I promise to keep writing it!

The gymnasium was enormous, and shockingly cold after the unrelenting heat of the summer’s day. Hawke felt Bethany shiver next to her as they followed the crowd of their former classmates, their shoes squeaking over the glossy court. The place smelled of rubber and floor polish, and the high ceiling amplified the muttering of the students into a cacophony of nervous chatter.

Hawke shuffled around, darting glances out of the corner of her eye at the rest of the students. Her heart sank. There were not nearly enough familiar faces. She supposed there was a chance that those absent hadn't been caught in the blaze, that their parents had simply sent them to a different school. But it would have been nice to have some friends at Kirkwall Academy.

Bethany tugged at her sleeve. “Marian, look!” she hissed, nodding at the bleachers.

Hawke’s eyes widened. Sitting in the front row was Aveline Du Lac. The last time Hawke saw her her face had been streaked with soot, her eyes red from crying. Now she sat straight backed and stone faced in the very center of the front row of bleachers. If she noticed them staring, she didn’t acknowledge it.

Hawke frowned. Then she sighed. _Better than nothing,_ she thought. “Come on Bethy,” she said. 

Her sister hesitated. “Do you think she’ll want to see us again? I mean, after what happened to her boyfriend…” her voice trembled. 

“We did everything we could for him,” Hawke said, scowling. “If we hadn’t pulled her away when we did, the fire would have got her too. She owes us.”

“She may not see it that way,” Bethany said, but Hawke ignored her, marching up to the bleachers and planting herself down directly next to the tall red-headed girl.

“Aveline,” she said, nodding.

The girl’s mouth hardened. “Hawke,” she said, stiffly inclining her head. 

“Glad to see a familiar face in here,” Hawke carried on, gesturing to the crowd of assembled teenagers. 

Aveline stared straight ahead. “Wish I could say the same.”

Hawke narrowed her eyes. “Right, then.” She turned away, grabbed Bethany’s hand. “My sister and I will be on our way. So sorry to have disturbed you.”

“Wait,” the girl said, and Hawke heard her voice crack. She turned back to see Aveline biting her lip. “Stay.” She was quiet for a minute. “I’m sorry. I know that I owe you my life.” She paused again, glancing down to twist a silver ring around her finger. “It just feels wrong, somehow,” she said, looking up, her clear green eyes puzzled. “He ought to be here.”

“There are a lot of people who ought to be here,” Hawke said, looking at her intently.

 Aveline blinked and met her gaze, and she nodded warningly over to Bethany with a quick shake of her head. The larger girl flushed, and nodded. “Yes, of course. Forgive me.”

After a minute or two of awkward silence, Bethany coughed. “So, Aveline,” she said. “What made you pick Kirkwall Academy?”

Aveline shrugged. “Had to go somewhere, didn’t I?” she said. Bethany shrank back, and Hawke bridled. It was one thing to be rude to her, but if she was going to snap at Bethany-

But Aveline spoke again. “What about you,” she said, her voice softer this time. “What brought you two here?”

“Oh, our mother’s a legacy,” Bethany said. “And our Uncle works on the staff.” She frowned. “He’s never said exactly what it is he does, has he Marian? But I suppose he must be a teacher.”  She clasped her hands together in her lap. “Will that be awkward, do you think?” Hawke shrugged, and Bethany chattered on. “Anyway, she thinks between the two of them we’ve got a decent shot at getting accepted.”

Aveline nodded. “I’m sure you will.” She sighed. “Maker knows what my chances are.”

Hawke snorted. “Are you kidding? They have to be daft to turn you away. I’m surprised some other school hasn’t already snapped you up on a soccer scholarship.”

Ferelden High certainly hadn’t topped any charts for academics, but its soccer team was damned near unbeatable, due in no small part to the goalkeeping efforts of Aveline ‘Brick Wall’ Du Lac. Carver had been on it too, though he was rarely called into play. Still, making the team at all was a rare success for someone of his year. Hawke remembered him marching in, how proud he’d been to tell Mother. She’d had to prank him for weeks before he’d lost that superior look. She swallowed, her eyes suddenly hot and itchy.

 _Get it together Marian_ , she told herself sternly. _Can’t let Bethany see you like this_. Not to mention the rest of the room. Crying on orientation day at a new school. She might as well plant a big fat sign on her back that said ‘weakling’. She ran a covert hand across her face. “If Kirkwall Acadamy is half as soccer mad as Ferelden was, I’d say you’ve got a sure ticket in,” she said.

The bigger girl shrugged. “I suppose we’ll find out soon enough. It looks like they’re about to make an announcement.”

A frazzled man in an wrinkled beige suit had stepped up behind the podium, rustling a sheath of papers nervously. “Yes, hello, if I may have your attention please…” The microphone popped and screeched, and everyone in the room winced. The man colored, and reshuffled his papers. “As I was saying, if everyone could please direct your attention to the front of the room.” 

Hawke rolled her eyes. These Kirkwall toffs would have to step it up if they wanted to command the respect of her rowdy former classmates. She leaned over to whisper as much to Aveline, when she realized the girl had stood up.

“OI! SHUT IT!” the ex-goalkeeper’s shout rang across the room. Instantly, the room went quiet. Aveline sat down, turned her attention back to the now very confused man behind the podium.

“Yes, well, thank you,” he said, looking somewhere in the vicinity of Aveline’s right shoulder. He cleared his throat, and assumed a solemn expression. “I am Professor Reginald Orsino of the Social Sciences department, and I will be conducting today’s orientation. I’d like to begin by stating that you all have my sincere condolences for this unthinkable tragedy. I know many of you are still reeling from the loss of your classmates and teachers. But even in times of hardship, it is our duty to carry on. Kirkwall Academy can provide you with the tools to reach your scholastic dreams, as well as opportunities for social and intellectual growth that far surpass anything you could have experienced at Ferelden. We are pleased to offer you this rare and valuable chance to improve yourselves.” Here he paused, as if expecting applause.

The gathered students stared back at him in bewildered silence. He coughed, and shuffled his papers again.

“Yes, well. That said, we will do what we can to take on as many of the displaced students as we are able, but I am afraid it is out of the question for our organization to open it’s doors to all of you. Furthermore, I must stress that this is in no way a _permanent_ offer of scholarship. Kirkwall Academy is a highly competitive and rigorously academic institution. Tragedy or not, we have our standards to maintain. Should you fail to distinguish yourselves during your time as a provisionary student, a more suitable school or similar learning environment will be found for you.”

“Whatever do you suppose a ‘similar learning environment’ is?” Bethany whispered.

“Labor-camps,” Hawke whispered back, running a finger across her throat.

Bethany gulped.

“Regardless, in line with our core values of empathy and philanthropy, we will be offering a provisional acceptance to a select group who meet our basic criteria. We are very pleased to welcome the following students into our hallowed halls.” He pulled out a list, and began reading off names. 

As Hawke suspected, Aveline was near the top of the list. She looked genuinely surprised, and shot them a sympathetic look as she walked up to join the other students who’d been deemed worthy.

Hawke gnawed on her lower lip, her body tense as the man kept reading. More and more students got up to walk to the crowd beside the podium. She noticed that almost all of the names called were athletes. Her lip curled. So much for rigorous academic standards. She could see from his eyes that he was nearing the bottom of the page.

“-And Marian Hawke.” He smiled, nodded, and began to fold up the paper.

Hawke froze. Bethany started shaking. “They didn’t say my name?” she said, her eyes huge. “What am I going to do? If we get split up, I can’t-“ she broke off, trembling.

There was a sudden pop high above them, and one of the large gymnasium lights went dark. The others began to flicker ominously. With a chill Hawke heard the chatter around them fade away as the students craned their heads upward. Behind the podium Professor Orsino tilted his head up toward the rafters and frowned. Her hands tightened around Bethany’s shoulders. 

“Shh, Bethy,” she said. “Relax. It’ll be okay, I promise.” She leaned in closer. “ _Remember where we are_ ,” she whispered into her sister’s ear.

Bethany started, and pulled her hands down to her sides. One by one, the lights came back on. “I’m sorry,” she said, ducking her head. “I’m just afraid-”

“Don’t fret,” Hawke said. She smiled in a way she hoped was reassuring. “I’m sure it’s just a mistake. Wait here, I’ll go sort it out.”

She approached Orsino, her hands balled up into fists.

“Excuse me, sir,” she said, “But I believe you forgot a name. Bethany Hawke, my sister.”

“I’m sorry young lady, but I’ve done nothing of the sort,” he said, busy stuffing his papers back into his briefcase. “Now run along and join your classmates at the registration table.”

“Sir,” Hawke said, louder this time. “Check again. Perhaps the name was under ‘Amell’?”

He stopped and looked at her. His eyes went unfocused. “Amell?” He blinked, and then frowned. “Ah yes, the janitor’s nieces. Now look here young lady, we’ve done what we can for you. But two girls are too much to take on charity. Our admission fees cost thousands of sovereigns. We’ve docked his wages for the next six months as it is on your account.”

“Uncle Gamlen is a janitor?” Hawke said, unable to keep back her surprise. 

“Yes, and I must say, his employment is rather tenuous enough at the moment,” Orsino said, running a hand over his face, “given his prodigious inclination towards drink. If you were relying on his name to grant your acceptance I’m afraid you’re in for a disappointment.”

“Alright,” Hawke said, thinking quickly. “Forget Gamlen. Sounds like he’s pretty crap at his job anyway, right?” 

“He does leave something to be desired,” the man conceded.

“And it’ll be awfully hard to keep the school grounds up to all those high standards you talked about, won’t it? Especially with this lot mucking about. You should have seen our old cafeteria back at Ferelden.” She grinned, and leaned in. “Especially before away games.”

Orsino looked up, blinking. “What happened before away games?”

 “Well sir,  everyone brings their dog to the away games,” she dropped her voice to a whisper, “in order so that they can take a shit on the other team’s field, afterwards.” Orsino’s jaw dropped. “Oh, it’s one of the very oldest Ferelden High traditions. Before the game everyone brings their pup to the cafeteria, and gets them good and loaded up. Now sir,” she said, adopting a serious tone, “Fereldens train their dogs fit as courtiers, I can promise you that. But accidents do happen, and when you feed a dog that much cafeteria chilli-“

Orsino’s complexion turned a bilious shade of green. “Oh Maker. I’d heard rumors, of course-“ he shook his head, his eyes slightly panicked. “There are absolutely no dogs allowed on campus!”

“Of course not,” Hawke said comfortingly. “But try telling that to them,” she said, pointing at the group milling about the gymnasium. 

“This is completely unacceptable,” Orsino said, his eyes darting around in his head. His forehead began breaking out in beads of sweat. “We have standards!”

“And it sounds like you could use some assistance maintaining those standards,” Hawke said, her voice reassuring. “Say, from someone who’s used to dealing with the sort of antics that made Ferelden High so infamous.”

The professor brought out a spotted handkerchief and began blotting at his forehead. “Exactly what sort of work are we talking about?” 

“Why, anything necessary to keep Kirkwall looking up to snuff, sir,” Hawke said. “Whether that means cleaning up any accidents that may happen, or,” and she gave him a knowing glance, “stopping those accidents from happening in the first place. I’ve a good eye for troublemakers, sir.” 

“I’m sure you do,” Orsino said, giving her a sharp look. He turned to examine the group of students, who Hawke was gratified to see were already growing unruly, and sighed. “We couldn’t pay you, of course.”

“Certainly not, sir.” Hawke said. “My sister and I would be happy do the job for free. So long as you let us both in.”

She waited, holding her breath.

He tapped his fingers on his briefcase. “Well, the headmistress might like that a sight better than charity.” His eyes narrowed. “You understand this in no way guarantees either of you a permanent place-“

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Hawke assured him through gritted teeth. 

“Very well, Ms. Hawke. You have a deal. I will make the necessary arrangements for your sister.” He turned back to his briefcase. “Both of you will report to the office of Groundskeeper Meeran first thing tomorrow morning. He will instruct you on your new duties for the remainder of the summer. Should he find your efforts satisfactory, both you and your sister will be granted admission in the fall. Once the term begins, we will employ your services on a more selective basis.” He paused. “I trust I need not emphasize how unwise it would be to speak of this arrangement to anyone else?”

“No, sir,” she said.

“Excellent. Then I wish you good day.” He closed his briefcase with a snap, and turned aside.

“Thank you, sir,” Hawke said. 

She walked back to Bethany. “There, you see? All cleared up. Come on, we’d better go get registered.”

Bethany’s face brightened. “Oh Marian, thank the Maker! I couldn’t stand it if we were separated.”

Hawke slung an arm around her shoulders, and hugged her tight. “We never will be, Bethy. I promise.”

Together they followed the crowd of students out the gymnasium and onto the grounds of their new school.


	2. The Only Sport That Matters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _So I spent way too much time thinking about what sport each class would play.  
>  For Mages it would be something like golf, maybe? (jk, obviously mages don't play sports).  
> Warriors would play something hardcore, like rugby, football or soccer.  
> But Rogues?  
> Rogues play baseball._

Groundskeeper Meeran turned out to be a tall, craggy man with flinty gray eyes and a large quantity of coarse salt-and-pepper hair that stuck out at odd angles from his head, making him look rather like an aged and disreputable lion. He was strict and severe, quick to dole out punishments for any perceived transgression. But he valued hard work, and to Hawke’s great surprise (and secret pride), he rapidly developed something of a soft spot for Bethany. 

“Hawke!” he’d shout. “We’re mucking out the fountains today. Fetch the heavy gloves and waders, and be sharp about it!” 

And then in a gentler tone, he’d turn to Bethany. “Now lass, you’re to tend to the statues over round the Arts division. Shall we walk you there or can you find your way?”

“Oh, I’ll be alright, sir,” Bethany said, smiling.

“That’s a good girl,” he’d say affectionately. And then, “Come along Hawke! No dawdling!”

At the end of three months, he called them individually into his office.

“You’re a right enough sort, Hawke,” the grizzled old groundskeeper said, digging through his desk. “Wish they’d let me keep you on instead of that bum uncle of yours.” He pulled out a set of grimy keys, holding them up to the light as if they were some rare gem. “There we are,” he crooned. He looked back at her, grinning. “I know they’ve put you up with him over in staff housing. But I reckon a pair of girls might want some space to themselves every now and then. These’ll open just about every door on campus.” Hawke’s eyes went wide, and she reached out for them. Meeran held them back, his face going stern.

“I’m entrusting them to you on two conditions,” he said. “First of all, I’m assuming that you’ve got enough sense to keep a low profile. Don’t prove me wrong.” His face darkened. “Last thing I need is Professor Orsino turning up at my doorstep asking questions.” He glared ferociously from beneath bushy eyebrows. “And if I find out you’ve been using them to mess about with lads or drink, you’ll be out on your arse faster than you can say Andraste’s Knickers.”

“Yes sir!” Hawke said, her eyes glued to the keys dangling from his hand.

“Second, mind that you stay well above ground. The original foundation is riddled with tunnels leftover from the old days. No telling exactly how deep they go.” He pulled thoughtfully at his scraggly beard. “I don’t suppose anyone much uses them anymore.” He looked up at her, his gray eyes sharp. “However, it’d be wise assume that anyone who _does_ is not the sort you want to let catch you unawares in the dark. Better to steer clear of them altogether, you understand?”

“Yes, sir,” she said, though her eyes widened with curiosity.

“There’s some queer business that goes on in this school after sundown,” Meeran said, his eyes clouding. “I won’t pretend not to have heard the rumors. Stick to your studies and keep to your room at night. Don’t go looking for trouble.”

“Don’t you worry about me, sir.” Hawke said glibly, her eyes still on the keys in his hand. “I’m an old hand at avoiding trouble.”

He chuckled. “I suppose you are, at that,” he said, looking at her with amusement. “But best take care, all the same.” He tossed her the keys. She caught them in one fist, bringing them up to look at them in her palm. “And for Maker’s sake girl,” he said, squinting hard at her, “don’t _lose_ them.” 

She shook her head, and stuffed them in her pocket.

“One last thing,” he said.

“Sir?” Hawke said, looking up.

Meeran scratched the back of his neck. “Your sister,” he said slowly, and Hawke went still. “She’s… well. She’s different, isn’t she.” It was not a question. 

Hawke’s mind raced for an excuse. She opened her mouth to respond, but he cut her off with a wave of his hand. 

“Now don’t go getting your head in a twist. I know how to keep my mouth shut. But if I noticed, someone else’s bound to notice too. And there are folk who’d see a girl like that, in her position, and think they’ve found themselves an opportunity.”

“Just what sort of opportunity would that be, sir?” Hawke asked, her eyes narrowed.

“Pray you never find out,” the man muttered, looking down at his desk. He shook his head, and looked up to fix her with a direct stare. “Watch out for her, Hawke. She’s a good girl. I’d hate to see her come to harm.” He waved a hand to the door. “Now be off with you, I’ve work to do.”

…

Hawke flopped down in the grass of the quad. “First term, at last! Thank the Maker!”

“I must be hearing things,” Bethany teased. “Surely it can’t be possible that Marian Hawke is happy for school to _start_?”

“Well, it means no more bloody grounds work, doesn’t it?” Hawke said defensively. She sighed, looking at her hands. “I’ve got blisters on my blisters.” 

“It wasn’t so bad,” Bethany said. “I think Meeran’s grown rather fond of us.” 

Hawke snorted. “Fond of you, you mean,” she said, sitting up to tousle Bethany’s hair. “Old blighter gave me all the hard jobs.”

“Oh but Marian, I forgot to tell you!” Bethany’s face lit up, and she reached down to fumble in her pocket. “He slipped this to me before we left,” she said, triumphantly pulling out a small bag of coin and holding it up high. “Told me I was to go and buy something pretty for the both of us. Now wasn’t that kind of him?”

“Careful, Bethy,” Hawke said, suddenly alert to the looks they were getting, “Don’t go waving it about-“

But her words came too late, as a skinny boy with ginger hair leaned down to snatch the purse from Bethany’s hand and took off running.

“Shit,” Hawke swore, as Bethany cried out in alarm. She stood up, reached down and scooped up a rock, leaned back and threw it with all her might at the boys retreating back.

She got him square in the shoulder, and he staggered, almost falling over. But in a second he’d righted himself, and kept running.

Cursing her luck, she started running after him, her eyes locked on the back of his head.

She hadn’t got more than a few paces when she saw a brawny arm lash out to catch him solidly in the ear, and she watched him fall, his momentum carrying him ass over teakettle to land sprawled out in a heap on the lawn. She loped forward until she was standing over him, panting. She kicked him once in the ribs, hard. “Bastard,” she hissed.

“That was some throw,” a voice said from behind her. She turned, startled, to see a boy standing next to her. He was at least a head shorter than she, with dirty blonde hair pulled back into a ponytail, warm brown eyes, and a generous mouth curved up into an easy grin. Her eyes lingered on his impressively muscled arms. She swallowed.

He leaned down, scooped up the fallen purse, and held it out to her.

“I take it this belongs to you,” he said.

“Thanks,” she said, reaching out to take it from him, “but I would have caught him on my own.”

“Maybe you would have,” he said with a shrug. “But then I’d’ve had to find a far less stylish way to introduce myself.” He held out a hand. “Varric Tethras, Team Captain.”

“Oh?” Hawke said, searching for something polite to say as she scanned the crowded lawn for Bethany. “And what sport is it you play?”

The boy smiled. “The only sport that matters,” he said. “Baseball.”

Hawke turned back around to face him, a spark of interest lit in her face. “Baseball, huh? Ever catch a Wardens match?”

“I’m more of a Legion man,” he said.

“Then you’re an idiot,” Hawke said heatedly. 

“Oh come on,” he said. “You’re kidding, right? The _Wardens_?” He shook his head. “That pack of losers haven’t won since 5:24 Exalted.”

Hawke gritted her teeth. “How can we, when teams like the Legion and the Templars poach all our best players? We may not have the gold to pay out the big contracts, but our GM knows good men when she sees them.”

“Yeah? Well so do I,” Varric said, his face going serious. “That was a damn good throw. You should come out to our next practice. We could use you,” He flashed her a grin. “Even if you are a fan of the worst team in the league.”

“Sure, if you’re only going by _wins_ ,” Hawke scoffed. “But look at our stats! We’ve got some of the highest-“ she blinked. “Wait. You want me to play for you?”

“That’s what I said,” Varric answered. “Look, uh,” he scratched his head, “it’s Marian, right?”

“Hawke,” she corrected him. She narrowed her eyes. “Wait. How do you know my name?”

 He looked away sheepishly. “There’s been a lot of talk going around about you and your sister.”

 “What sort of talk?” she said sharply.

Varric shrugged. “Oh, all kinds of fantastic nonsense. That you blackmailed your way in here. That you and your sister are the offspring of a forbidden love affair between the Headmistress and the janitor. Some people are even saying you burned down your old school.”

Hawke’s face went flat.

“Thanks for your help, Varric,” she said, turning on her heel and walking away.

“Hey, don’t be sore,” he said falling into step beside her. “I hear a lot of things. Doesn’t mean I believe them. Besides I haven’t even told you the best one.” He leaned in, and his voice dropped to a whisper. “Rumor has it that you got Professor Orsino to permanently ban the cafeteria from serving chilli.” He looked at her. “Pretty nuts what people come up with, huh?”

Hawke tried hard to keep a straight face, but she snickered. 

Varric’s face split into a grin. “I knew there was a story in it! Come on, spill.”

Hawke schooled her expression. “Varric,” she said, “I appreciate your help. But I don’t have time for stories, or even baseball. I’ve got to find a way to earn my keep. If I slip up, they’re going to kick me and my sister out of this bloody school.” She looked down at him, her lip curling slightly. “I don’t have a set of rich parents to pay my way.”

“Neither do I,” Varric said, his smile slipping away. “My parents are dead.”

“Oh,” Hawke said, stepping back. She winced. “Maker. I’m sorry.”

“Hey, me too,” he said, pulling a wry face. “They wrote their trust so that I’m stuck as the ward of my shit-heel older brother, Bartrand. It’ll be years before I’m free of him.”

Hawke blew out her breath in exasperation. “Yes, I imagine that’s very hard for you, with your trust fund and all,” she said, turning away. “Now if you’ll excuse me-”

“Aw, come on,” he said. “Can’t you see I’m trying to help you out?”

Hawke wrinkled her brow. “How, exactly?”

“It’s like this,” he said. “Kirkwall’s already got a crapload of academic honors. But every year our athletics department gets murdered by the local teams. Shit, why do you think they let in so many athletes?” He looked at her appraisingly. “You’re still a provisional student, right?” 

She nodded. 

He spread his hands. “Play for me. Help us win enough games, and I promise, Kirkwall won’t give a rat’s ass how many schools you may or may not have burned down.”

Despite herself, she cracked a smile. “I’ll think about it,” she said, ducking her head.

“Fantastic,” Varric said, clapping her on the back as if she’d already agreed. “My roommate and I are throwing a party tomorrow night in our dorm. You and your sister should come by, meet the team. We’re in the Harriman wing, right past the Arbor of Chains.” He looked around carefully. “The password will be ‘the queasy crow flies at midnight’.”

“Password?” Hawke said, frowning, but he was already walking away.

“See you there, Hawke,” he said waving.

“See you,” she said hesitantly.

Bethany came up behind her. “You got it back,” she said, breaking into a smile and hugging her. “I’m sorry, I should have been more careful.” She looked at Varric’s retreating back. “Who was that?”

“Nobody,” Hawke blurted out. Bethany raised an eyebrow. “Just some guy,” she amended, trying to sound casual. Bethany stared at her, and Hawke was horrified to feel herself blushing.

“Oh _Marian_.” Now Bethany was grinning. Hawke scowled at her.

“Come on,” she said, grabbing her hand, “we’ll be late to class.”


	3. Chained Man

Kirkwall Academy was a labyrinth of white marble and iron doors, full of impossibly twisted staircases, dead ends, hidden courtyards, and passageways that opened up seemingly on their own. Despite having spent nearly three months cleaning what had felt like every nook and cranny of the place, there were still occasions on which Hawke found herself hopelessly lost.

 “I could’ve sworn it was right after this fountain,” she said, looking around.

The three of them stood in front of a round babbling pool of water, from the center of which rose a tremendous stone fist.

Bethany shook her head. “You’ve got it mixed up,” she said. “The Harriman wing has a bronze statue in the courtyard.”

Hawke twisted up her face, thinking. “Chained man or lady-of-spikes?” she asked.

“Lady-of-spikes,” Bethany said. “I remember polishing them and wondering if dying in some awful way was one of the requirements to get a building named for you.”

Hawke swore. “Void take it all, you’re right.” She kicked the lip of the fountain. “Bloody maze, this place.”

“We shouldn’t even be out this late,” Aveline grumbled, looking cross. “It’s against school rules.”

Hawke rolled her eyes, and started walking. “No one forced you to come,” she said pointedly. “In fact we rather thought we were doing you a favor by inviting you.”

Aveline flushed, but followed behind them. “The soccer team has parties too you know,” she grumbled.

“Really? Have you gone to many?” Hawke heard Bethany ask as they trudged through the corridor in the fading light of the evening.

“One was enough,” the girl muttered.

“I suppose you caught them violating school policy,” Hawke said snidely, ducking under a low arch. “Did you give them a stern talking to, or just storm off in a sulk?” 

Bethany elbowed her sharply in the ribs. “ _Marian_ ,” she hissed, glaring. “Don’t be a git.”

“I’m not such a wet blanket as you seem to think,” Aveline called back, her voice rising. “I enjoy a bit of fun every now and then. And hazing new players is common enough. We did it back at Ferelden too.” She went silent for a moment. “But the team captain, Jevan. He takes things too far. Someone is going to wind up hurt, or worse-“

There was a shout from somewhere ahead of them. Hawke stopped.

“Hush,” she said, holding up a hand, her voice dropping to a whisper. “Do you hear that?”

In the silence that followed all them made out the sound of quickly approaching footsteps. 

“Follow me,” Hawke whispered. “Quickly!”

She darted through an arched doorway into a small terrace, ducking down out of sight behind a stone bench. The other two followed, and she pulled Bethany down by her side.

The footsteps echoed louder and louder. At last a boy burst through the archway. He took a quick look around the small terrace, before loping over the to the wall. With a graceful leap, he caught hold of the edge of an iron wrought balcony, and swung himself up and over the side of the wall.

“What on earth-“ Hawke heard Aveline whisper, and she shook her head, holding her finger to her lips.

Two men ducked through the arch. 

“Search this place,” she heard one of them say. “I’ll check the corridor.”

One of them flicked on a flashlight. Hawke yanked her leg out of the way of the beam, but she wasn’t quick enough

“You there,” a hard voice said. “On your feet. Now.”

Aveline looked at her. Hawke shrugged. All three of them slowly stood up. 

Hawke stepped forward. “We were just on our way back to the dorms, sir,” she said, squinting into the bright beam the man had trained on her face. 

“Did I say you could speak?” The man reached out and hit her hard across the face. Hawke staggered back, stunned, holding her cheek. “Ivers! I’ve got three escapees here,” he called out.

“Is he with them?” the other man called back.

Hawke saw the flashlight movie across Aveline and Bethany’s faces. “No,” he said.

“Stay there. I’ll find him.”

“Excuse me,” she heard Aveline say, “but I believe there’s been some mistake. We go to school here.“

The flashlight came to a stop on the girl’s face, and Hawke heard him laugh softly. “Not any more you don’t. You belong to the Pit, my girl, and that’s exactly where you’re going.”

“Bloody hell we are,” Hawke spat, as she launched herself towards his knees. He toppled over heavily with an oath, catching her in the jaw with a vicious kick that had her seeing stars. The flashlight rolled over the cobblestones, it’s light bobbing up and down against the wall, casting the man’s silhouette in sharp relief as she watched him close in on her. 

 “Thought I told you to keep your damned mouth shut,” he said, flicking open a switchblade.

She scrambled backwards, palms scraping against the rough stone, until she felt her back hit the wall. The light behind him went out. He loomed over her, his blade raised in one fist. 

And then Aveline stepped up behind him, her face twisted into a snarl. And with both arms she swung the flashlight around to crash into the back of his skull with a dull crunch. 

He fell.

Hawke stared up at her, her eyes wide. Both of them were panting. There was something dark dripping from the flashlight in Aveline’s hand. She swallowed. 

“Bethany?” Hawke called out, her voice hoarse.

“I’m here.” Her sister’s voice came timid and shaky from somewhere in the darkness behind Aveline. She crept into the dim circle of light, staring down at the fallen man. “Is he.. Is he dead?”

Hawke gingerly prodded the side of his face with the toe of her shoe. She fliched, and then scowled. “I hope so,” she said. She stood up, brushing off her scratched up hands. She turned to Aveline, who was still staring down at the man. “You alright?” she asked.

Aveline blinked, and shook her head. “Yeah,” she said, looking at the flashlight in her hands. Hawke saw her go pale at the sight of the blood. 

“Here,” she said, reaching down to pull off the man’s jacket. He was heavier than she expected, but she succeeded in getting it off. “Wipe it off on this.” Aveline took it woodenly, and began rubbing her hands against the material.

“No sign of him,” a voice called out, and all three of them froze. Hawke saw panic flash across Aveline’s face, mirroring of her own fear, and their eyes met. Then Aveline’s mouth set, and she nodded towards the archway. Hawke nodded back, and reached down to pick up the knife the man had let fall. She pressed herself against the wall opposite Aveline and waited, trying to calm the frantic beating of her heart. 

“Clemens?” the man’s voice came again. When there was no response, Hawke heard his footsteps slow. Both hands wrapped around the knife, she tried to keep from trembling as she heard his steps come closer and closer to the archrway. When she could hear the rustle of his clothes she slowly raised the knife above her head-

Then there was a flash of white light, and a high pitched gasping noise like a boiling tea kettle. It cut off with a horrible wet squelch, and Hawke saw dark liquid come trickling through the cobblestones at their feet.

And the boy stepped through the door.

There was something funny about the light, or else… She blinked rapidly. His skin looked like it was glowing.

She stepped back, holding out the knife. He looked at her, and at the man on the ground, and slowly raised his hands. They were empty, and, Hawke noticed with a shiver,  red to the elbow.

“I mean you no harm,” he said, taking a step back. Hawke stared at him, and then at Aveline over his shoulder. Slowly she let the knife fall. 

“Who are you,” she hissed, stepping around so she was between him and Bethany. She almost tripped over the dead man, and she started violently. She kicked his prone head. “And who the fuck are… _were_ they.”

Aveline came out to stand beside her. She put a hand on her trembling shoulder, and Hawke shot her a grateful look.

“I am Fenris,” the boy said, keeping his arms raised. “I don’t know who they are. But I know that they wished me dead.” He inclined his head to her and Aveline. “I thank you, for your help.”

“You’re welcome,” Aveline said automatically, then looked embarrassed. 

“Well, what did he mean then,” Hawke said, squinting at the strange boy. He had stopped glowing, she noticed. “He said he was going to take us to.. to a _pit_.”

The boys eyes went oddly blank, and Hawke saw him shiver. Then he blinked.

“I… I don’t remember,” he said, sounding faintly surprised.

Hawke opened her mouth to remark on how utterly ridiculous that was, when she heard Bethany speak up behind her.

“Hadn’t we better get out of here?” she said in a small voice, and Hawke turned to see her eyeing the corpse nervously. “Before anyone else shows up to look for them?”

Hawke sighed. “Yes,” she said. She folded the blade back into the handle, taking care not to cut herself, and shoved it into her pocket. “Let’s go,” she said resolutely, walking back out the archway, careful not to look too closely at the red mess sprawled out in the corridor. She turned right.

“That’s not the way back,” Aveline said.

“We’re closer to the Harriman Wing than we are to our rooms,” Hawle said, crossing her arms. “We’ll duck in to wash up, sleep in their common room, and then head back at dawn.”

Aveline hesitated. “Allright,” she said at last, stepping forward.

“Come on Bethany,” Hawke called out, starting again.

There was brief pause.

“Fenris,” she heard her sister say. “Would you like to come to a party?”

Hawke froze. She and Aveline turned to stare at each other with identical expressions of dismay.

“Certainly,” the boy said. “Lead the way.”

\---

And so that was how they wound up at the door to Varric’s room, liberally spattered with blood, and with a mysterious and murderous amnesiac in tow.

Hawke rapped twice on the door.

“Password,” came a lilting voice. 

“Something to do with a queasy crow?” she offered.

“The whole of the password, if you please,” the voice came again, sounding put out.

“I’m terribly sorry, but that’s as much as I can remember,” Hawke said through clenched teeth.

“Nobody takes the password seriously,” the voice said sullenly. “One of these days it’ll be ruddy murderers at our door, and where will we be then?”

“Perhaps it might help if you chose a shorter one,” Hawke pointed out. 

“Bloody ingrates,” the voice muttered, but she heard the lock twist, and in a second the door had opened into a hot and raucous room full of people carrying on various enthusiastic conversations.

All of which trailed to a halt as they got a good look at newcomers.

“Varric,” said the girl behind the door, giving them a fascinated look. “We’ve got guests. And one of them is bleeding on the carpet.”

“It is not my blood,” Fenris reassured her. 

“Hawke!” Varric called out, pushing through the crowd. “You made it!” He stopped short when he saw her. “Damn. You alright?" His gaze traveled from the blood dripping from Fenris' shirt to Aveline's red stained fingers, and halted at the rapidly darkening bruise she could feel blossoming on her jaw.

“We had some, er, trouble on the way over,” Hawke said, running a hand through her hair. “Look, um, would you mind terribly if we stayed here tonight?”

“No problem,” Varric said immediately. “You and your sister can take my bed.”

“That’s not necessary,” Hawke said, flushing, but Varric waved her off.

“I insist. Common room’s better for passing out in, anyway. It helps set an example for the freshmen.“

“Does that mean I get to bunk with tall, red, and ravishing?” The girl from behind the door slunk up next to Aveline, giving her a long appreciative look. “Why Varric, I do believe she has even nicer arms than you.“

“The couch will be fine, thank you!” Aveline said stiffly, stepping back. 

“Pity,” the girl mused. “I’d wager she could snap a man in half with her-“

“Izzy,” Varric coughed. “Hawke, this is Isabela Castillon, my roommate and all around partner-in-crime.”

Hawke stared at her, her stomach sinking. “Oh,” she said, “of course. Pleased to meet you, Isabela.” She took the girl’s hand mechanically. “This is my sister, Bethany, our friend Aveline, and, um… Fenris,” she finished. 

“Charmed,” Isabela said, staring curiously at Fenris. 

Aveline cleared her throat. “Might we make use of your lavatory?” she said, looking pointedly at the blood dripping on the carpet.

“Sure,” Varric said. “It’s just down the hall to the left.”

Aveline, Fenris and Bethany shuffled off, and Isabela dropped onto a nearby couch, leaving Hawke and Varric alone. He raised an eyebrow at her.

“Well, you sure know how to make an entrance,” he said, shaking his head. Hawke smiled weakly. "You want anything to drink? The beer's warm, but it's decent. " She nodded, and he tossed her a can. “Come on," he said, grabbing her arm. "I'll introduce you to rest of the team.” 

He dragged her off around the room, talking non stop. “-So I hold down second base, my brother Bartrand is shortstop. We’ve got a few freshmen in the outfield. And over there’s Sebastian, our first baseman.”

He nodded towards a tanned, brown haired boy who was standing by the window, scowling down at the courtyard.

“He looks like a cheerful sort,” Hawke said.

Varric sighed. “He’s hung up over the statue. This building actually used to be named after his family, but then-“ he waved a hand. “Shit, it’s a long story. Hey, Sebastian!”

The boy turned, his frown lifting into an easy smile. “Hey, Varric,” he said, walking over. He grinned at Hawke. “Is this the girl I’ve been hearing so much about?”

Hawke blinked. “Am I?” she asked, turning to Varric. 

“I may have mentioned you a few times,” Varric admitted, giving Sebastian a irritated look.

“A few times?” Sebastian grinned. “More like-“

“Okay, great to see you Sebastian, talk to you later!” Varric said quickly, pulling Hawke away. “He’s a good guy, but don’t get him started or he’ll talk your ear off,” he muttered. He directed her back towards the middle of the room, where Isabela was sitting on the couch talking to a tall, blonde boy dressed all in black.

“You’ve already met Izzy,” he said, and the girl smiled. “She’s our catcher.” He glared at her. “And she’s actually pretty good when she’s not making up obscene hand signals to mess with Anders.”

“They’re not made up,” the girl protested. “It’s just easier to remember. Not to mention more fun.” She nudged the boy sitting next to her with an elbow. “And besides, Anders knows what they mean, don’t you love?”

“You’d have to be blind not to,” the boy said, his expression pained. “Though what they have to do with baseball is beyond me.” He shook his head. “I’m fairly certain the umpire at our last game thought you were propositioning him.”

“Well,” Isabela said, grinning wickedly, “his calls improved afterwards, didn’t they?”

“That’s the spirit,” Varric said cheerfully. “Hawke, this is Anders, our pitcher. Actually,” he said, scratching his head, “maybe you already know him. He used to go to Ferelden, too.”

“Really?” Hawke said, brightening.

Anders shook his head. “We wouldn’t have met,” he said, his expression grim. Hawke waited for him to elaborate, but he was silent.

“What made you decide to transfer?” she asked, curious. 

His face closed up. “I thought it would be different here,” he said. “But it’s just the same.”

“What do you mean?” Hawke said. She saw Isabela and Varric exchange a meaningful look.

Suddenly the boy twitched, and his body went rigid. “You,” he gasped, looking out behind Hawke. “How-”

Hawke turned around to see that Aveline and Fenris had re-entered the room, the latter still toweling off one arm. 

Anders was staring directly at him, his face gone a clammy shade of gray. "What is he doing here," he demanded, turning to glare at Varric, the whites of his eyes gleaming wide and panicked.

Varric shot her a confused look. “He came with Hawke," he said.  "Why, do you know him?”

Anders let out a choked laugh and slumped back into the couch, his face in his hands. “Yes. Oh yes,” he said softly.  “I know him.”

Fenris stepped forward. “I apologize,” he said, “but I don't remember you.” He tilted his head, studying Anders' face. “Have we met before?”

“Many times,” Anders said. “But it doesn’t matter now.” He was trembling.

Varric cleared his throat. “Uh, you okay there Blondie?” He put a hand on the boy’s arm.

“I’m fine,”Anders said, shaking off Varric’s arm. “They’re the ones you should worry about.”  He stopped for a second, and then looked straight at Hawke, his brown eyes clear and strangely sad. “He won’t remember you either, you know.”

“Okay, time for bed,” Varric said, drawing Anders away, and giving Hawke an apologetic look. “Izzy, you and Sebastian wanna walk Blondie back to Darcton Hall?”

“Sure thing,” the girl said, jumping up from the couch. She gave Aveline an exaggerated wink. “Don’t worry big girl, I’ll be back soon.”

“It’s dangerous outside-“ Hawke started to protest.

“It’s not far. And we know a back way.” Varric smiled at her. “You’d be surprised at how many crazy tunnels run beneath this school.”

Hawke watched as the three of them walked off. “So,” she said turning back to him. She shifted, uncertain how to pose the next question. “Your friend-”

“-is a few cards short of a deck,” Varric finished. He sighed. “Look, he’s a good guy. He just has his off days, now and then.”

“What was he talking about,” Hawke said. “About Kirkwall and Ferelden being the same?”

 Varric shook his head. “You’d know better than me. I’ve never been to Ferelden High.” At her expression he continued. “He doesn’t talk about it much, but I think something happened to him there.” He shrugged. “On the good days, he’s funny, smart, and a terrific pitcher. On the bad days…” he trailed off. “Well, you’ve seen for yourself,” he said, gesturing after them.

“Yeah,” Hawke said, rubbing her hair “I guess.” She bit her lip, thinking. “Varric,“ she said, “have you ever heard of a place called the Pit?” 

“What, like a hole?” he asked. “No. Why?”

“Just something I heard,” she said, her eyes on Fenris.

“This place wasn’t always a school, you know,” he said, and she turned back to look at him. “There’s a lot of old stuff hidden down beneath the foundations. You want to look for a pit, thats probably a good place to start.”

Hawke shuddered. “No,” she said. “I don’t think it’s the sort of place you go looking for.” 

Varric shrugged. “I like exploring down there,” he said. “Most of the doors are locked, but some of them are so old they’ve rusted through.”

“You aren’t worried about getting lost, or caught?” Hawke asked, her eyebrows raised.

“Nah,” Varric said. “My great-great grandfather helped build this place. I figure messing around down there is in my blood.” He grinned at her, and she found herself smiling back.

“Thanks, Varric,” she said impulsively. She flushed. “For introducing me, I mean.”

“Well, I’d be lying if I said I didn’t have an ulterior motive,” he said, with a lopsided grin that made her skin rush hot and cold all at once.

“Oh?” she managed to get out. “What’s that?”

“I’m short a third baseman,” he said. “I’ve been subbing in players, but you can only expect so much from freshmen. I’ve seen you throw, and run. And we can train you to hit.” 

Hawke blinked. _Of course that’s his ulterior motive_ , she thought, inwardly wincing. But she made sure her expression remained cooly unconcerned, and drew herself up to her full height.

“Let’s get this straight,” she said crossing her arms. “Nobody needs to train me to hit.”

“Save it for the field, hot shot,” he snorted. “So does this mean you’ll join?”

Hawke pretended to deliberate at length. “Yeah,” she said finally, grinning. “Count me in.”

“Yes!” Varric crowed, breaking out in a huge grin. “Welcome to the Kirkwall Champions.” He pulled a hat out of his jacket, and reached up to jam it on her head. “Best team in the Free Marches! Or, we will be,” he amended. “Eventually.”

Hawke laughed, and pulled off the hat to look at it. It was black, with the red crest of Kirkwall front and center. “Have you been carrying this around the whole time?”

“What can I say, I had a feeling we’d win you over,” Varric said. “Practice is weekdays at 4pm, Sundermont Field. You should bring your sister.”

“We’ll be there,” Hawke said. She paused, and looked around the room. Aveline and Fenris were chatting with another boy by the window, but Bethany was nowhere to be seen. 

Her smile dropped. “Um, would excuse me for a minute?” she said, turning away.

“Sure. Let me know when you want to turn in,” he called after her.

…

After a fruitless search of the room, Hawke ducked out into the hall. Her eyes lit up as she finally spotted her sister. Bethany was slumped down against the wall next to the bathroom door, a beer can in her hands. 

“There you are,” she said, walking over. She raised an eyebrow at the beer. “Who gave you that?”

Bethany ignored her, scowling down at the can. “I don’t know why anyone drinks beer,” she muttered. “It tastes like stale piss.” 

Hawke sat down beside her. “Its better when it’s cold. This is more like fresh piss.”

Bethany looked over to pull a sour face at her. Then the corner of her mouth wobbled. 

“I’m sorry,” she said, dropping her gaze back to the can.

Hawke stared blankly at her. “What for?”

“Back out there, tonight” Bethany said, gesturing out to the door. Her shoulders drew in. “I was completely useless.” 

Hawke wrapped an arm around her. “I don’t know what you think you ought to have done,” she said.

“Anything other than cower behind you and Aveline like a terrified child,” Bethany said bitterly.  

“You think I wasn’t scared?” Hawke said. 

“You don’t understand,” Bethany said, pulling away. Her fingers tightened around the can. “What’s the point of having… of being.. _like this,_ if I can’t even _help-“_

Under her fingers the can suddenly contorted violently, crunching itself flat and jerking up to hang wobbling in front of them.

“Bethany,” Hawke whispered. “Don’t-“

“If I just knew how to use it properly,” her sister continued, her eyes narrowed as she stared at the can suspended in front of them. She reached out one finger to touch the crumpled side. “Maybe I could _do_ something-” 

There was a cough from down the hall. The can dropped, and Hawke snapped her head around to find Isabela watching them with a bemused expression.

“Yes? Can we help you?” Hawke said, glaring at her.

The girl raised an eyebrow, and nodded towards the bathroom. “Is it occupied?” she said.

Her mouth set in a hard line, Hawke shook her head.

“Thanks,” Isabela said, walking past them into the restroom. The door closed behind her with a click.

“Oh, Marian,” Bethany whispered, her eyes wide. “Do you think she saw?”

“Don’t worry about her,” Hawke said, her eyes narrowing as she stared at the bathroom door. “I’ll take care of it.” She sighed and turned back to fix her sister with a stern look. “But I don’t like hearing this sort of talk from you, Bethy. You shouldn’t be trying to _do_ anything. You know what Father would have said.”

Her sister’s face fell.

“I know you only want to help,” she added at the sight of her sister’s downcast expression. “But it’s just going to cause trouble. And I can’t always be there to sort things out. You have to keep it under control.”

“I know,” her sister said. She looked up. “I’ll try.”

“Good,” Hawke said with a smile. She picked up the discarded can and stood. “I think that’s probably enough stale piss for tonight. Shall we go to bed?”

Bethany nodded, rising. She wiped a hand across her face. Then she grinned.

“You know, I could probably find somewhere else to sleep,” she remarked casually, glancing at Hawke out of the corner of her eye. 

“Why?” Hawke said, looking at with suspicion. “What for?”

“Oh, only so that if you and Mr. Tethras would prefer to be _alone_ -” she cut off with a gleeful yelp as Hawke grabbed her.

“Not another word,” Hawke hissed, scanning the halls. She turned to glower at her sister, who, to her disgust, was giggling. “Or I swear I will murder you in your sleep-“

“What, in his bed?” Bethany said, dancing out of her grasp, her eyes sparkling. “I think that might make things rather awkward, don’t you?” 

She slipped back into the main room, and Hawke followed after, grumbling to herself about the sheer impossibility of little sisters.

\---

Varric's room was messy, but not dirty, and it smelled good, which was enough to elevate him even further beyond any other teenage boy of Hawke’s acquaintance.  

His taste in decor, however, was another matter all together. Hawke scowled as she looked around at the posters of Legion players that covered the walls. 

“I’m going to have nightmares,” she grumbled, crawling into bed next to Bethany. 

“I thought you liked baseball,” Bethany mumbled sleepily, her eyes already closed.

“That is not the point,” Hawke said, but she had to stifle a yawn. 

As her eyes began to close, she found herself staring at a drawing Varric had hung beneath a poster of a stone-faced pitcher. It was a strange diagram, resembling the sort of overly complicated maze one saw in a book of children’s puzzles. Only it had been drawn in incredibly intricate detail, and it looked, well, _old_. 

As she drifted off to sleep, Hawke had the funny idea that it might be a map.


End file.
